


Imposter

by DauntlessSubconscious



Category: Dark Angel
Genre: F/M, a-z challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 09:29:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5863894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DauntlessSubconscious/pseuds/DauntlessSubconscious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I let the imposter drive. I'm just here for the ride...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imposter

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there!  
> This one shot is part of the well known A-Z challenge and is the very first one I've written in first person. Since I have no beta, all mistakes are mine.  
> Hope y'all enjoy it!

Everything was fine until the dreams began.

I am cured and with Logan, finally being able to say I'd gotten all I wanted. Life with him is secure, polished, content. Leaving Seattle had been difficult and I fought with the decision for months until Logan made it for me.

_It's just too risky to stay here_ , he'd said. And as usual, he'd been right. The sober adult, the eternal voice of correct paths, my soon husband to be. For years, he'd been unsuspectingly whispering in the back of my mind and without any conscious processing, he'd become my moral compass, the man who'd shaped me into the woman I am.

You'd think realising this would, at least, cause some reaction —mild shock, maybe even an angry surprise— and so would I, but he's no longer the only one who gets to speak inside my head and the worry this new voice causes absorbs all my energy and focus.

Logan gets upset when he wakes up and I'm not in bed, next to him; but tonight I can't bring myself to care. The post-nightmare awakeness is unyielding, unforgiving and the feel of the sheets and covers gets smothering. Using my genetically engineered stealth skills, I leave the bedroom while the man I suppose I should love with all my heart mumbles something in his sleep. The breath I didn't realise I was holding escapes my lungs when he settles into slumber again. My bare feet are grateful to the cool tiled floor, the heat of the bed is, at times, too much for my revved up body temperature.

I don't turn any lights on, don't need to. I know if Logan wakes up, he'll start doing just that in the way to find me; and it's almost funny how much that thought bothers me. I don't want to admit it, but it does, like a lot of things concerning this new, white picket fence life of mine.

I look outside through the ridiculously large window and it's pouring. The dim light of the distant houses of the few neighbours make the water drops glisten and I lose myself for a moment in the remembrance of Seattle and hazel eyes.

When the reality of the high-end neighbourhood, the cocktail parties at the Thompson's and the perfectly asphalted streets hits me, my eyes are full of unshed tears. The bitterness runs deep in my throat and I find myself thinking that a whisky will solve it. A small smile contours my lips, because it was he who gave me the taste and appreciation for the amber liquid. Tumbler in hand, I turn around to stare at the living room that well could've been from the cover of any house decor magazine. Clean shapes and corners speak out loud of the minimalist style of the house; the white, pristine couches make a stand in the middle of the room, an island of safety in the midst of the black tile. But the only thing in this absurdly overpriced property I can still relate to are the two canvas hanging on the far wall, over the stairs. Joshua's work. The one in the right has an explosion of colour in the outer rim, as if the rainbow itself had crashed on it, yet the green prevails. The center it's a dark hole, swallowing every light it touches. I can see extremely well what Josh'd meant when he explained it to me. It's laughable, my degree of blindness; because it took me years to realise the canvas on the left, the one representing me, wasn't just a complete opposite from the other, that they actually complemented each other. I fleetingly wish I could speak Joshua's language, for its simple candor it's something so foreign to me it hurts.

I could easily say I was naive, too young to justify my actions; and it wouldn't be a lie, but it wouldn't be the complete truth either. 'I was scared' still seems conceited. 'I was a coward' is more like it.

After a lifetime of losing, I made the safest choice. Predictably and almost text book, I sauntered into the arms of the man who represented refuge and calm, breaking more than one heart in the process. I told myself it was the right thing to do, but seeing I'm not the ruler of my own consciousness, perhaps those were Logan's words. The rain stops, and so should I when it comes to blaming other people for my mistakes.

The sun will come up soon, or the increasingly lighter shades of blue that filter between the clouds towards the East say so. I hear noises upstairs, Logan is up, ready to earn a few more millions for his family company. His uncle's retirement had opened a dangerous door. Would his cousin take care of the bussiness? Logan'd shielded in his father's love and work for the enterprise, saying he couldn't leave such legacy to be lost in a cousin who merely lived to enjoy the excesses his money could buy.

Stop the press! What law enforcement had spent years trying, the fate of a company had done: take Eyes Only out of the picture. At least, I'm not the only one who's kidding myself.

My ears pick up his footsteps leaving the bedroom and I retreat to the kitchen, leaving the empty glass I was still holding on the counter. I know he won't like it. In his words, he doesn't _appreciate_ my drinking. It could've been six months ago, or maybe last week at a socialité reunion, I don't really remember nor I care, but those words were spoken. Inside, I was burning in anger. What gave him the right to flaunt his bravado towards my behaviour? I've never been the easiest person to handle, much less when I'm told what to do. But this... This went further than that, mostly because I could see, deep down, he wasn't concerned about me, about my welfare; it worried him what would his friends say. Maybe, it was that masochistic side of my brain, or the fact we were in a room full of strangers to me, but my tantrum stood relegated in the back of my constricting throat and I simply put my champagne flute down with a fake sweet smile.

It didn't register at the moment, perhaps my eyes and mind were too dazzled with the rather impressive collection of jewlery the women were wearing and my fingers itched to steal and fence later, but the truth was I hadn't been able to comprehend or grasp just how much I was betraying myself with that plain omission. I should've made a scene right then and there, crash that flute against the wooden floor and leave between gasps and shocked stares. But I didn't. There's so much I should've done; should do, but I don't, even now, after the dreams started.

So much the old me would've done, but not the new me, the imposter.

Guess after all, not everything is fine.

Logan enters the kitchen and interrupts my inner rambling as I'm getting the coffee ready. I never go near the stove, it's not my thing, I'd even manage to burn cereal. I can prepare a mean cup of coffee, though. My droug of choice. I'm sure Logan will find a way to let me know how inconvinient my consume of caffeine seems.

"Morning, honey," he mumbles with a smile, taking the cup I offer to him. The word of endearment makes the bile rise, because I truly hate it and he knows it, I've said it enough times before; yet I smile back, even though I'm aware it won't reach my eyes.

As I get my morning fix, he talks about _our_ plans for the weekend, the same _he_ made arranges for while I had nothing to do with them. I don't kid myself, nonetheless. I'll follow his lead, as usual. Because that's what the imposter is _magna cum laude_ at.

I'm not really paying attention, I just nod here and there, maybe a non-commital 'humm'. My mind is far away, lingering in the incomplete images of last night's dream.

They are different every night. Sometimes I catch glimpses of my beloved and rundown Seattle, sometimes the place is completely strange to me, but I suspect it's the desert. In them, I'm always running. As a consequence of being chased my whole life, I'd thought I'd been running from someone. No one is after me, though; and I kept having a bizarre, odd feeling; a certainty which drives me, pulls me to keep running or I'll be done for. I realise that if I don't hurry up, I'll lose it, whatever it is I'm searching, but I know it's profoundly vital.

The sense of hopelessness, the desperation remains inside me like a parasite and never lets go, not even in the waking hours. It feeds back on its own, for every dream is more torturing than the previous one.

And last night I saw hazel eyes.

I suddenly fear the worst, the thought of him in danger paralyzes me as the panic creeps under my skin. I haven't heard from him in months... What if White finally caught him, what if he needs my help.

I remember the last words he spoke to me, right after he pulled me into a dark alley and kissed me with all his might. _Stay with me, please._ I'd made him beg, made him crawl through the dirt as he exposed his soul to me. How close to the edge had I driven him to hear his plea? I remember his ragged breath while he pressed his forehead against mine and his hands held my face. I remember the reverence and the honesty in his eyes when he said he loved me. I remember walking away, silent...

I hadn't dared to look him in the eye, I knew what I'd see and didn't want to witness it, because I was and still am a coward. Finally, the imposter and I have something in common.

I don't know exactly where I find the strength to take the imposter from the leading role, but in a blink of an eye, I'm in control. "Actually, I was thinking to make a trip this weekend." My voice is surprinsingly firm and calm. Logan stares at me and I can tell he's puzzled. "To Seattle," I add and seeing his features decompose only empowers my decision.

I'm pretty sure Logan is making a solid case against my choice, but my mind is set. I practically fly upstairs, he's hot behind my feet, I still don't listen. I reach the corner of the walk-in closet full of dresses and shoes I dont really need and I find what I'm looking for: my old backpack. Inside there're my most faded jeans and leather jacket, the same I didn't had the heart to get rid of.

"You're leaving now?!" he shrieks and I'm possitive his blood pressure has gone up to unhealthy levels.

"Yes."

I pack a few more belongings and some cash that I retrieve from my nightstand drawer. Looking at Logan I realise he's still in shock. Maybe, I do owe him a better explanation after years of cohabiting. I sigh.

"You're gonna be at the office all day, so I might as well take off now and make the most of it."

There's logic in my words and he can't debate with it although he wants to. He winces as he gives up. "Be careful."

"I will."

He pulls me into a kiss and the contact feels wrong but I don't want to hurt his feelings, so no protest comes out of me.

The SUV awaits for me in the garage, but then I see with the corner of my eye the white sheet covering my baby. A smile instantly lights up my face and it widens as the lush black of my Ninja is revealed. I gun the engine and its purr ignites a deep fire of anticipation. As I take the curve that leads out of the neighbourhood, a sense of freedom invades me and I stare the road in awe, as if it was my first journey.

The Interstate becomes a blur to me, it doesn't matter. I just want to be there and when the last lights of dusk disappear, I'm entering the forsaken city.

I quickly resolve to talk to Cindy first. Stopping at a payphone after discovering my cell was long forgotten somewhere in the house, I wish with all my being she still has the same number. It's late but I punch the digits, I know them by heart. I hear a ring, then another one. A sleepy voice answers the phone with a very unlady-like threat. It's OC, for sure. She recognizes my voice in an instant and chastises me for being a very inconsiderate human being, although not in those exact words. When I blame the cat in me, she laughs and says she's not buying it and that if I'm not at her place in ten minutes, she'll personally hunt me down and put the smack down my ass. God... I love her so much I can't understand how I managed to stay away. Nine minutes later, I find myself knocking her door and then I'm choking in tears as she hugs me. I've never been fond of psichology, but maybe there's some truth to those repression theories. We talk, talk and talk, or mostly I do, for hours. She sometimes smiles in that secretive, knowing way of hers because she has a comprehension of the world and what makes it spin I never had. But first and foremost, she knows me, the _real_ me and that gives me hope, because if she can still see those long forgotten traits of my personality, then not all is lost.

It scares the shit out of me, but I take the plunge and ask about him. Her features immediately darken and she avoids my eyes. Not good, my mind whispers. She says she doesn't know all that much, but the things she does tell me are about a grim, somber man that is nothing alike to the Alec I used to know; and then gives me the last address she has of him.

I drive at a bit reckless speed through the familiar streets, my destination fixed in my mind. I thought I was ready to face him, but then, I look up and the Space Needle stands there, waiting for my visit. My high place, the one that gave me perspective. I'm not sure I'm still able to discern the significance or meaning of that word, but I do know the Needle has always given me the insight I needed. Will I ever be ready to see him? I sigh deeply. I'm scared again, like all those years ago. I'm scared because I'm fully aware it was my fault, because he won't forgive me; and if the scenario where he magically forgets just how much I'd skrewed both of our lives ever gets to come true, I'm pretty sure I don't deserve his forgiveness.

The wind up here is punishing, relentless, threatening; but I stay there until morning because it doesn't cause me as much dread as the sight of his hazel eyes full of hatred would and will. He hates me, it's a given. And if he doesn't, he should.

I can feel my heart rate picking up as I knock his front door. I just want to make sure he's okay. I've told myself that so many times I don't even know if it's true or a mere excuse to keep my mind at ease. I then realise the door is slightly ajar. I push it without a thought, entering the meagre apartment, sinking myself in the darkness since the only dim source of light is the street lamp. The place is considerably smaller than the last one I saw and he has fewer things. I find out there's no TV and that pushes my eyebrows up in surprise; the Alec I used to know wouldn't survive without his boob tube. The paint on the walls is peeling off everywhere, much alike to the rest of the building; however, there're hints of military training in the tidiness of the place. A couple of books are piled up on a desk which has clearly seen better days and I suspect it serves as table too. The single chair tells me he doesn't appreciate people visiting. But aside those small things I notice, everything is nondescript. I'm sure I could try hard, but I wouldn't find a single trace of DNA here. Good to see he's being careful, covering his tracks.

It hits me like a tidal wave, his scent. My senses tingle, ingniting and sparkling in awareness. I can't hear him, for he's not making any noise, I can feel him though, I can sense his distraught right behind me. I turn around to find the barrel of a gun, a fraction of an inch away from my face, defiant and daring me to make a single move.

As I put my hands up I can see the recognition, as well as the disbelief in his eyes; his pupils widen for an instant and I can tell he's confused.

_Yes, it's me._

I want to say it but my lips remain sealed when his expression hardens to after wear his Manticore mask. I had expected it. I deserve it. It breaks my heart all the same.

He lowers the gun and his gaze while I try real hard to figure out what to say, but I need to start being honest... What can I possibly say to make it right? As I decide to stop deluding myself I turn to face him, but he's not looking at me; he's untieing his combat boots, pointedly avoiding my presence. He can feel my stare, I know it and he soon confirms it when our eyes lock.

I'm twenty two all over again, losing myself in the deep hazel of his beautiful eyes and I remember just fine how those eyes told things his mouth couldn't. They still can, because there's so much whirling in his irises they provoke shivers run down my spine.

He severs the connection and stands up. I remain in my spot, waiting for him to find the words since he's the one who can make them count, while I watch him clench and unclench his fists.

"Why're you here?" he asks in a cold, unattached voice. He sounds serious and exhausted in equal parts. I frown because I didn't expect it. Various scenarios had played out in my head, most of them included him kicking me out of his apartment and the rest were about him making fun of my life, but then I recall OC's words about him. I find myself staring at him, trying to see how exactly is he different, in what ways is he still the same. The physical changes are evident, his scruffy beard, his wider shoulders... He's a full grown man now, and even though there're small hints of that smart Alec who barged into my cell, I understand what Cindy meant. He's distant, wary and I can't exactly blame him after all he's gone through. I take a step towards him and his back instantly tenses, so I stop, I've already hurt him enough. I search inside my brain for an answer, a worthy one for his question.

"I had to see you," is all I can come up with. It sums up all my hopes and desires, it explains the need to quench my fears; and I realise it's still all about me... I remain being the same selfish bitch I've always been. Did I think twice before bursting into his life again? No...

His jaw tightens as he dares to take a glimpse of me with the corner of his eye. He's pissed and all I can think about is how much I'd like to be four years younger, to be in that alley again and stay with him, to say I felt the same way.

He approaches me slowly, measuring my responses while he observes every little change in my stance. I fight to calm myself and even though I'm able to pose a great façade, it had never been good enough to fool him. He can see right through me.

The tension in the room spikes up as he stands only centimeters away from me and stare at my lips with undisguised want. I take a step back and he laughs mockingly while shaking his head.

"Something funny?"

My question comes out harsh, I can't help it. He has always been able to bring up the best and the worst of me; always knowing which buttons to push. He smirks and it enrages me. I can sense the anger flowing through my veins, my heart pumping frantically like it hadn't done in years.

It's the most alive I've felt in a really long time and he hasn't even laid a finger on me.

He gets closer and closer, our noses almost touching. He still smells like leather and danger, scents which drive me near to insanity. "You tell me," he whispers next to my ear, his breath caressing my skin and his voice is clearly loaded with intention. My body reacts to him immediately, my mind follows suit, being suddenly crowded with images, some memories, others, fantasies, and I'm almost sure that I'm blushing. He smirks again and walks past me, evidently more than aware of the effect he can still cause in me, revelling in his achievement as a male.

"Guess not all is love and sunshine back in LA, huh?"

His taunting words come from behind me, carrying an interesting ammount of certainty and bitterness and they make me freeze. Am I that obvious? That sad? His finger runs over the black lines of my barcode and I'm forced to inhale sharply. It's that or a very indiscrete whimper and I'd prefer to hold my dignity for as long as I can.

I move away from his touch and face him once more. His features deplete from all expression and I mimick him. Two can play this game.

"What're you doin' here, Max?"

I'm about to repeat myself but I suppose I'm still playing 'open book' with him, because he fixes me with a look that leaves no room for bullshit.

"I..." Hesitation. Damn it, I hate to be such a coward, but I'm thinking if I should tell him about the dreams or not. Should I tell him he occupies my mind day and night? That since the moment he entered the room my heart hasn't stopped pounding?

I suppose he sees my struggle and why he decides to throw me a bone escapes my grasp. "What're you lookin' for?" he rephrases for my inferior emotional capabilities and it's a hell of a good question.

"I just needed to know you're alright," is the most honest answer, but I expect him to take this the wrong way, because he can't possibly understand the desperation lingering inside my chest after one of those horrid nightmares where I see him die, being I the one to blame.

"Livin' the dream," he says, his face indicating anything but and he points to the door with his arm. "So if that's all-"

My hand goes out to the curve of his neck in a second, interrupting him, because I notice the marks marring his skin. Standing behind him I see the lines of scar tissue run from under his barcode to his back, or at least I imagine so since he has a shirt on. He seems to be healing well but that also means they are fresh, maybe a week old, two if the damage was too extensive. "What happened?" I mutter, my fingers still over his damaged skin and he turns his head to the side, though he avoids my eyes.

"A couple of Cult freaks caught me off guard, that's all."

Like a bucket of ice and water the dread washes over me. The dreams take a whole new level of weirdness in my mind and the 'what if's' are choking me. I need to see, I need to make sure. I take his tee off and the sight makes my throat constrict in anger and pain. Those are whiplash marks. I'm not really sure how I know it, I just do. My hand lays over the irregular edges of the wounds and he hisses.

"Alec..." is all I can get out. I'm vaguely aware of the couple of tears that run down my face, but all I can think of it's that this is my fault.

I should have taken White out when I had the chance, but instead I'd listened to Logan's wisdom asking mercy of me. It was stupid to leave that sadistic bastard go... And now, they'd gotten Alec... Sure, he'd escaped because that's what we're trained for. We're survivors, but what if he'd been seriously injured, what if they would've been too many for him, what if he hadn't made it... The awful possibilities whirl in my mind, mixing with the images of my dreams as the resentment against my own idiocy burns slowly in my stomach.

But then, he's caressing my cheek with his thumb, drying my tears in a tender touch and I lose my train of thought. He becomes my sole focus as my fears fade away and I lean on his touch, realising just how much I missed it, missed him. My arms wrap around him on their own accord; I allow my head to rest on his bare chest, inhaling deeply. His scent encases me, sheltering me from my demons and I feel protected for the first time since I left Seattle. The irony of this doesn't go by unnoticed. Jeez... My life is so far away from the reservation that I can't even begin to count how many times I betrayed myself and others to chase that stupid dream of prince charming; thinking I could appease that yearning for belonging, for safety and love if I chose the harmless option. Only that the innocent affection I saw in Logan hadn't ended up being so trustworthy and dependable as it'd promised to be. Even though I'd gotten what I thought wanted, it hadn't been enough, because I'd known the real deal, and pretending simply lead me to a miserable life. I lost myself in the process and created a persona to fill my spot while I went through the motions. And all for what? To satisfy my want for a different reality.

_Want_ and _need_ do not always go hand in hand, I realise now, and I can see how pointless it is trying to rationalize when it comes to this.

I look him in the eye and I trust in his awareness of my regrets, because I can't name them all, the list is too long. "I'm sorry," I say with the little strength I have left.

He remains still and his quiescence alarms me; his expression is neutral, collected, and after what seems forever, he nods.

I feel out of place all over sudden, four years too late and I have no choice but to accept the reality, that the moment is gone; that as much repentance I've coined, no apologies will change the fact that I walked away. "I should go." My whisper is grim as my thoughts and again, I don't dare to look him in the eye, but as I'm reaching for the door, he takes care of it.

His strong hands hold my face and he makes me witness how much of a better person than me he is, because there's no resentment in his gaze. He kisses me and it's tender as well as passionate; he conveys everything with it, but it's the hint of bittersweetness which paralyses me. He's saying goodbye and I have no say in this farewell; all I can do is merely oblige and try with all my will not to fall apart right there. Our lips finally tear apart and after a last caress, his hands leave my face.

"Go," he mutters as he nods towards the door. I understand what he means.

_Go before we meltdown in front of each other. Go before we do or say something we'll regret._

As soon as I close the door I can hear him trashing the place and I'm crying my guts out. So I do what I know best, I run. Run aimless between people and cars until my feet hurt and I sag on the floor of a non-descript alley because my legs won't carry my weight anymore. I cry and my tears meld with the water of the downpour. I'm freezing and alone on the other side of the town. I don't know how long I'm there, but at some point, my strenght gingerly returns and there's no more tears, only rain; so I get up and make my way to OC's.

She doesn't ask questions that night, she draws me a bath instead and I sleep for a while. He doesn't come into my dreams that night or any other after.

It takes me around three months to get my new endeavour up and running. Leaving Seattle again felt like a defeat, except this time I wasn't escaping from everything I didn't want to see. This time I'm moving forward, or I like to think so. Cindy'd been the first to hear my plans that grey morning and she'd agreed it was for the best. The city held too many memories and my dear friend knows very well my tendencies to brood and sulk. She promised she'd visit and I trust she will, she's not like me. LA came after that. Giving my engagement ring back to Logan had been easier than I thought; it'd been liberating, like the weight that kept opressing my chest had been taken from me. He'd gone from shock to anger to resignation in the span of a few hours. _The weekend surely changed your tune_ , he'd said in a moment of rage; but I didn't explain it hadn't been a weekend of milling around our defective relationship —it'd been years perhaps—; because deep down he knew we'd been doomed from day one.

One good thing came out of those years, though. I'm not rich by any means, but I have enough to get by after buying a piece of land and a house thanks to some opportune investments.

So I do it. I find a neat place in Texas. No one knows me and viceversa. But I have a horse which ocassionally still makes me land on my ass, 'cause the animal has it's temper; I have a tabby cat that sleeps most of the day and I have my own orchard to keep my mind off things.

I feel the imposter dissolving as the days pass, but I'm not the old me either. I've changed, I've grown and I like it; I enjoy not being an infatuated and deluded teenager. It used to be all black and white for me, friends or enemies, and I actually prefer the greys now, the 'in-between', I understand them. I suppose the years somehow tamed me a bit, softened the edges.

However, there's an unyielding constant in me. A void, the sensation of being incomplete; no matter how far I go or how many situations I experience, something, someone is missing. And it's him, of course. Nevertheless, I vowed I wouldn't seek him, wouldn't let myself linger in his absence. I've been selfish for a very good part of my existence and despite I need him desperately, it isn't fair to him for me to interrupt his life as if it was mine to manage. He's in my mind all the time, but it's not enough... I hurt him once and that's something I won't allow myself to do ever again.

The dew glistens on the grass as the sunrays seep through the horizon and the birds sing without recess. I'm still in my nightgown as I step out to the porch, glass of water in hand, while pondering about the ridiculously hot temperatures for May.

And then I see him, sitting on the wooden garden swing as if he owned the damn thing.

I stare at the bench and the man occupying it in deep awe, not knowing exactly what to do. I decide to get closer and my mind races with the implications of this visit. The damp grass chills my feet as I walk towards the tree and he turns his head to me. I simply can't believe he's here... How did he find me? How...

Cindy... Of course.

He smiles and it reaches his eyes as he extends his hand towards me. I entwine my fingers with his and he guides me, so I end up straddling him. He hugs me tight and I do the same, a desperate attempt to confirm he's not a result of my deranged imagination. He's really here, but will he stay? Is he just passing through? Can we move forward after everything?

The questions threaten to override my head and just when I feel I'm about to collapse with emotion, he stares at me intensely and all I can do is lose myself in the hazel and gold.

"Alec..."

I have so much to say, to ask, but the words die in my mouth as he runs his thumb over my lips.

"It took us a while, but we're here."

He knows. He understands and so do I.

My lips slowly draw a smile because for the first time in my life I feel bold, courageous, sure of what I want. I want him, the man in front of me.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think of it and thanks for taking the time to read :)


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